My dogs, Wyatt & Janey, have a big water dish in the kitchen, and a smaller one here in the bedroom. Kibble bowls in the kitchen & bedroom too, with one extra small bowl in the office because one or the other will usually wolf down a bowl once he or she is sure that I'm going to stay at the desk for a bit. My dogs like to be confident of where I am located before they lower their heads and devote all their energies and senses to the task of eating dinner or a midnight snack. This is a kind of neuroses I guess, and it's surely my fault, so I do my best to ease the way for them. The bowls stay full and I try not to alter the eating routine. I'll lean against the counter and watch them eat if that's what they need me to do. (An aside: if I am leaving the house, and I give each of them a Milk Bone biscuit, Janey will gobble hers in a panic, but Wyatt holds his in his mouth, and when I come home, no matter how many hours later, the first thing he does is eat that biscuit, which he has usually placed in the center of the sofa...to be eaten upon my return, when it's safe.) Often, in the wee hours of the night, Janey will awaken and suddenly jump off my bed (she sleeps with me; Wyatt in his little bed on the floor, bedroom or living room; he ambles back & forth in the night). Janey jumps to the floor and a moment later I can her her lapping at the water dish. This never fails to move me, even when it has awakened me (as it always does). I'm moved because she TRUSTS that the water is there and that means she trusts me and the world we've created. The bowl will be there and it will NOT be empty. And I'm moved because I'm reminded that she is a sentient being that has been overtaken by thirst (AWAKENED by it), and like any thinking creature, she has headed for the nearest watering hole. When she's done, she walks back over to the side of the bed and sits, staring up into the darkness, waiting, patiently, for me to do the thing she expects, that she RELIES UPON---which is that I will roll my body to the side of the bed, lean way down, often with a soft curse, and gently yank/pull her up by her harness and onto the bed. It's a smooth, fluid motion, that lift, like a seasoned skier jumping onto the next passing lift. Janey immediately sprawls into a heap, mocking me with her ability to fall right back to sleep, even as I fluff & fold myself back into a semblance of sleepy time comfort. I am an insomniac, and she does all this to torture me, I have no doubt, but also to remind me that this house, which my self-pitying brain often classifies as "lonely and empty", is in fact, teeming, at all hours, with active minds, beating hearts, and questing souls. Here on Sanborn Avenue, we're a sleepy bunch, but we're alive, and we're in this together.